


Day 7: Memory

by trustisforfools



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e17 The Ember Island Players, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jetko, Jetko Week 2013, M/M, implied sex, reupload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 11:53:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13166370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustisforfools/pseuds/trustisforfools
Summary: "Did jet just...die?"





	Day 7: Memory

**Author's Note:**

> revamped jetko angst that no one asked for but i still hold some of my old stuff near and dear T_T plus my new shiznit is taking forever so why not

"Did Jet just…. _die_?"

"You know, it was really unclear."

The young prince's heart stopped and his lungs ceased to function properly. He hadn't felt this way since he woke to find his mother missing all those years ago. Confusion and disbelief clouded his mind, rendering him unable to pay anymore attention to the mediocre Ember Island Players as a heavy weight tugged at his chest. Was the air growing thinner? He looked to his friends, but he found them still engrossed in the play.

As Zuko sat in the dark theater staring at his feet, his mind's eye took him back to the day he actually listened to his uncle and set Appa free beneath the very lake where another very stubborn warrior apparently lost his life. A warrior that had seemed immortal and unstoppable and unbreakable to Zuko. The tanned, mischievous face and powerful silhouette that had been etched permanently in his mind after weeks of working side by side in the tea shop was suddenly all he could see. His ratty clothes, his eclectic armor, his confident strut, the stupid grass he chewed on, his mesmerizing chestnut eyes that could light up with devilish charm, with passion, or with rage. His firm grip and rough hands that always felt so perfect against Zuko's skin...until the night that Jet's aggressive side was anything but welcome, the night that Zuko could no longer contain his guilt or uphold his fake identity. The memory flooded his consciousness in vivid detail. He remembered how his sweaty palms wouldn't stop fidgeting with each other as he approached the boy to whom he'd grown as close as his lies would allow. He'd pulled him aside once the tea shop was empty, his heart pounding as he staked his hopes on the trust they'd built, regardless of the falsity it'd been built on. With his eyes pleading for acceptance, he revealed his origins, wanting desperately to close the distance between the two of them. 

Zuko would never forget the evolution of expressions on Jet's face after the prince confirmed that, yes, he was serious. The warrior's incredulous smile faded into pure shock, and Zuko could no longer hear the boy's breath. The room fell silent as death. Jet looked as if he'd been stabbed in the stomach. Pain, betrayal, and finally, a rage that chilled Zuko to this day. He never imagined that Jet could be so frighteningly angry, that his brown eyes could burn hotter than fire.

Zuko remembered the ringing of swords and the swears that were thrown every which way. He remembered the tears that stung his eyes, tears of shame and self-loathing that were hidden by the darkness of the city street. When the Dai Li arrived, Iroh vouched for his nephew, and the crowd in turn came to the defense of the popular tea shop owner, leaving Jet helpless against the police. The look of disgust on his face was too much for Zuko to bear, so he looked away as the Dai Li dragged him into the cart, but the firebender could feel Jet's eyes burning into him still. He felt hollow after that night, retreating further into himself than ever.

The intermission came unexpectedly, shaking Zuko out of his daydream. He went outside to get some air, which helped to ease his dizziness, but his chest and stomach remained heavy, along with the unbearable knot in his throat. As he leaned against the wooden railing, staring at the ocean in the distance, then up at the night sky, Zuko longed for his freedom fighter more than he had in a long time. The yearning feeling overcame his entire body until tears rolled down his cheeks and he buried his face in his silky red sleeves, his fists balling hard enough for his short fingernails to leave imprints in his palms.

Jet wasn't there. He couldn't hear his sobs. He was gone. And the prince had only found out because the stage crew lowered a poorly-made prop on top of a bug-eyed, hook-handed poser.


End file.
